


Grumpy

by biblionerd07



Series: In Times of War [2]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Epic Bromance, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles is being a sourpuss and Bass has to cheer him up because soldiers + waiting + close quarters often leads to trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grumpy

**Author's Note:**

> So yes, I've now started a series of Miles and Bass cheering up one another while in their Marine days, because I need them being BFFs because they both need it but are too stupid/emotionally constipated to realize it and fix their friendship. Also "epic bromance" is my favorite tag ever.

Bass watched Miles from the corner of his eye. His best friend was In a Mood, as his grandmother used to say. It had been going on for almost three days. Miles was moody by nature, and that was okay with Bass—it wasn’t anything personal; it was just Miles. It (almost) never annoyed Bass to basically talk to himself while Miles sat beside him silently, staring broodily off into the distance like he thought cameras were watching him and he was the gruff, silent hero. Some people would think he wasn’t listening, but Bass knew he was, or he’d at least tune in and out, and Bass could usually coax a smile or two out with bad puns and stupid jokes.

But Miles had been avoiding him, which meant he didn’t _want_ to be cheered up. Under normal circumstances, Bass would have left him alone for one more day to wallow in his funk before demanding he snap out of it. But he couldn’t give him today, because he’d heard some of the other guys in their unit muttering about Miles’s dark cloud.

No one said shit about Miles while Bass was around—they’d learned quickly that was a good way to get slugged in the gut—but they’d been in the latrine and didn’t know Bass was there, too. People who weren’t used to Miles often got offended when Miles, taciturn by nature anyway, devolved into silence and glares, and from the sounds of this conversation, the other guys were very sick of Miles’s brooding.

Part of Miles’s problem, Bass knew, was that he was restless. They were just waiting around, no action, no orders, no adrenaline. It gave Miles time to think and for Miles, time to think meant time to wallow. And because they were all in close quarters, cooped up and bristling against each other and bored and scared and antsy, the other guys were rumbling about “teaching Matheson a lesson,” and none of them sounded light-hearted and prank-like. That usually meant an ambush and a beat-down—not one bad enough to take Miles out of the action, but something involving a few guys holding him down while others kicked him or worse.

That wasn’t something that was going to happen while Bass was breathing.

Miles was sitting outside, running his fingers absently through the sand and looking for all accounts like the grumpiest man on earth. Bass shook his head and plopped down beside him. Miles acknowledged him with only a tiny flick of the eye in his direction. He didn’t say anything. To anyone else, that would’ve seemed dismissive, but Bass knew it was acquiescence.

“Well?” Bass asked, squinting over at Miles. Miles raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. “You gonna quit being a fourteen-year-old drama queen any time soon?” Miles rolled his eyes but still didn’t say anything. Bass sighed.

“Miles, you’re an ornery son of a bitch, you know that? You always have been and you always will be. And that’s fine with me; it won’t get my panties in a twist. You piss me off and I’ll kick your ass and we’ll be fine—whatever.”

“This is really cheering me up.” Miles muttered. His sarcasm might’ve put anyone else off, but Bass just felt smug. He was talking. Bass’s battle was already half won.

“But not everyone is as loving as me, Miles.” That earned him a snort. “Heard some guys in the latrine getting pissy. They’re planning an ambush, brother.”

“Good. I want to fight.” Miles sounded petulant and the grimace on his face said he heard it, too. Bass groaned and flopped onto his back into the sand.

“Miles, I don’t want to.” Bass was whining now, sounding almost exactly like he used to when Miles tried to make him leave a party early. “I’m bored and I wanna play cards and I don’t want to wait until tomorrow for everyone to get over it.”

“Well, who’s asking you to?” Miles said with no real heat. He knew it was a stupid question; if anyone was going after Miles, they’d have to take Bass down too. It was how it had always been and always would be—they’d made that promise long ago.

“You’re such a stubborn asshole.” Bass muttered, squirming over and hitting his head on Miles’s thigh repeatedly until Miles got annoyed and poked him in the face. Miles wasn’t great with talking, but Bass could always cheer him up by physically assaulting him.

“What am I supposed to do about it?” Miles asked. They were now in a game of head-drop and poke; Bass would drop his head onto Miles’s thigh and Miles would poke Bass’s cheek when he raised his head. They’d find out later that their CO had seen it happening and had shaken his head, muttering, “Idiot juveniles.”

“Miles, can’t you just fake it to make it?” Bass sighed, knowing that really, no, Miles could not. Miles dropped his hand and Bass accepted his silent truce. Miles lay down then too, scrunching down in the sand to lie next to Bass, staring up at the dried out sky.

“Look, I came out here to stop annoying everyone. You didn’t have to follow me.”

“Ugh, shut up with the lone ranger crap, wouldya? You know I’m always gonna follow you.”

“Like a bad song stuck in my head.” Miles grumbled, earning him an elbow to the side.

“Listen to me, Miles Matheson. I’m not saying you have no reason to be grumpy.” Bass propped himself up on an elbow to squint down at Miles. “You feel like your life’s gone to shit and it kinda did, I guess, with Emma”—Bass pushed away the stab of guilt in his gut—“and with Ben and being at war and everything.”

“Your pep talks are seriously the worst.”

“But I’m still here, brother.” Bass poked Miles’s forehead, right between the eyes. “And I’m bored as shit. So either come inside and be cheerful or come inside so we can start this rumble. I’m getting sunburnt out here.”

Bass waited for Miles to make the move, knowing he would and willing to wait a minute or two for him to do it. Miles sighed, dug one more handful of sand and let it slide through his fingers, and nodded. He stood up and offered Bass a hand. Bass clapped him on the back and they headed inside. Bass made sure to trip and elbow Miles all the way in to get a little play-fight going so that by the time they walked in, Miles was grinning. Everyone looked up when they came in, since they were making so much noise, and Bass saw a few people tense up. He kept his smile easy and wide but squared his shoulders, looking into the face of the ambush ringleader and shooting him with his eyes.

“Well, I guess the sun came out.” Someone commented drily. Miles’s eyes flicked to Bass, silently asking for help even though Miles would never admit it. Miles could be cheerful with Bass, but it got harder with a group. Bass threw an arm around Miles’s shoulders and steered him toward the folding table set up in the middle of the room.

“Come on, fellas. My best friend and I are ready to take all your money.”

The card game lasted all of five minutes before Bass, who had positioned himself between Miles and the guys planning the ambush, saw the ringleader try to stealthily stand, fists clenched. Bass flipped the card table and stood, fists cocked, in front of Miles.

“Trust me, Hudson, you do _not_ want to go there.” Bass growled. Miles stood too, ready for a fight that he was half dreading and half craving.

“Oh, the two of you are gonna take us all on?” Hudson sneered, seeming to think he had everyone on his side. Bass raised an eyebrow and laughed.

“Well, we’d be glad to, really, and I can promise we’d kick _all_ your asses.” Bass ignored the noise Miles made that said _not so sure about that_ , and held his arms out, gesturing around the room. “But it doesn’t look like anyone else’s got a problem with us.”

“Not a problem with _you_ , Monroe.”

“A problem with Matheson is a problem with Monroe.” Bass said firmly. Miles shifted so their shoulder blades were pressed together, covering one another’s backs and blind spots; his way of making it clear the reverse was true as well, since he wasn’t one for speeches proclaiming his loyalties, especially since everyone already knew it anyway. Bass didn’t think there was a more secure feeling in the world than knowing Miles was at his back. Hudson glared at the guys who were supposed to be backing him up, who all shrugged and looked away. “Hey man, it’s all good now,” one guy said.

“No reason to fight,” someone else agreed. “Let’s just get back to our game.” Hudson looked for a second like he might start throwing punches anyway, but Bass and Miles standing back to back with their fists raised was a pretty formidable sight even when you did have backup. He swore and walked outside. Bass breathed out long and slow. He’d fight the devil himself for Miles, but that didn’t mean he wanted to.

“Good thing people like you.” Miles muttered by way of thanks as they crawled around picking up cards, their penance for Bass flipping the table.

“And good thing _I_ like _you_ , you big asshole.” Bass threw a card in Miles’s face and Miles responded by putting him in a headlock. The other guys rolled their eyes and picked up the cards themselves. Typical.


End file.
